


The Soccer Coach and the Music Geek

by Michadommy



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Children, Football | Soccer, Love at First Sight, M/M, Music, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 10:59:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1896546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michadommy/pseuds/Michadommy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete is the substitute children soccer coach who fills in for Mikey Way who has to pick up his older brother and Frank. Patrick is the unlucky music geek's guy who's window gets broken by Pete. What will blossom from this?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Soccer Coach and the Music Geek

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think if ever been more proud of one of my works than now. Compared to all the overdramatic works I've written over the past few years, this is (a tad bit?) more mature. Please read it and tell me what you think.

**The Soccer Coach and the Music Geek**

 

It all happened on a Tuesday afternoon, also known as E3's afternoon soccer practice. This time, with twenty-one year old Pete Wentz as coach, instead of the slightly younger coach Mikey Way that usually trained the six to ten year olds mixed gender soccer group, who was absence in order to "pick up his dimwit of an older brother who had gotten lost on the way back from yet another comic conference in the middle of nowhere with his new found best friend Frank," he had informed Pete via the phone an hour or five before soccer practice. Pete, who had been catching up with sleep (since insomnia had been quite the pain in the ass lately, to say it lightly) hadn't been prepared at all. Without even a soccer field to practice on in mind, he had picked up the kids from the usual pick up spot in the city and paraded off to find the nearest, compatible for children soccer field he could find.

 

And that's how he, Pete, and the kids ended up on the soccer field behind Patrick Stump's family home on a hot Tuesday afternoon with no such thing as water. Upon arriving, the group dropped the equipment they had either carried or literally dragged along on the field and plopped down on the ground with sighs of exhaustion. Pete, who had been giving the surroundings a look-over, quickly made a hundred and eighty degree turn and proceeded to give the twenty sweating, heavily breathing kids a look-over. Pete, who had a much better condition than the kids (he coached more than one children team a week), raised an eyebrow at the group spread out on the field. "No excitement, huh?" Every child shook his or her head in response, "Too bad. Still gotta train, kiddos. Can't report to mikeyway that his E3s didn't do a single thing- besides carrying a net of soccer balls, two small goals and a few pawns. Or can I?" 

 

"Well, that was what I thought." He replied with a small smile playing on his lips when there came no instant response. However, after hearing story after story from Mikey, Pete knew better than assuming that the conversation was finished. He wasn't disappointed, when a small boy around the age of eight years old raised him arm in protest. With a court nod, he gave the boy permission to voice any objection he had. "Mikey's brother told us imagination is a good thing. We can start now." He told Pete confidently, looking as stubborn as every little kid could look. "Oh, Gerard said that?" Pete questioned, holding back a laugh. The boy and the rest of the children confirmed it. 

 

"The same Gerard that fell multiple times asleep on a drying painting? Got lost multiple times and had to be picked up by his  _little_ brother?" (Pete hoped he didn't insult the younger siblings in the group). The children fell silent.

 

"Err, yes?" One was finally brave to confirm. "Well, maybe imagination is good, but…" Pete paused. "Let's just say there's a fine line drawn between a healthy proportion of imagination and an over the line proportion of imagination." He told everyone with an evil grin playing on his lips.

 

"Well, let's get going! We don't have all day. GO! GO! GO!" 

 

Half an hour consisted of much "GO!", much "faster!" (Pete made them sprint) and "No, like this!". At that point, Pete was shoving the kids in three, neat lines behind the orange pawns set up on one line. "And stay there!" He warned, after he had experienced with more than one group in the past that the kids tended to sneak out of line and take off to play hide and seek while he was giving someone private instruction. The children all giggled in response, some open and some trying to do their best drowning out the laughter behind their hands. Pete thought the latter was the most polite. (Pete didn't like being laughed at).

 

Within a minute or two, three, the first child had trouble with the exercise they had been working on. It was another eight year old, a girl this time. She was rather tall for her age and wore one of the most adorable soccer outfits Pete had seen in his whole life so far (it was to awww). With a sympathetic smile in her direction, he walked over to her and crouched to her level next to her left. "Hello there." He greeted with what was a self-taught, comforting smile. The girl nervously smiled back to her coach. "How is it going? I thought I'd saw a killer goal from you a while away. Man, what was that one kind of a goal! Where are the scouts when you need them?" He joked, expression and gestures all included. All by all, it caused a small giggle from the girl. 

 

"Maddie." Pete softly and gently begon, after the laughter had died. "Look at me, little girl. Up, up." He requested from her with a calm voice and kind eyes. Maddie did as was asked of her and faced the substitute coach for the midday with scared, big blue eyes and a trembling lip, waiting for a verdict - a verdict that would never come if you asked Pete. It had never even been in the question; Maddie was a good girl and she had done no such bad thing. Pete didn't get everything right either the first time for multiple things and that's what she and every other kid should know and he planned on telling them that.

 

"Just listen to me, alright? Can you do that for me?" He asked her, still as calm as before. Maddie, who was still quivering on her place, nodded, although she was not directly eying the coach. Pete had the urge to sigh, but kept it at bay. Sighing wouldn't give off a good sign in this situation. "Good girl. Listen Maddie, not everyone always gets it right at first attempt. When I was learning to play soccer, I didn't get everything right at the first attempt either. Dribbling with the ball didn't always go according to the coach's plan or my own plan for that matter; for some reason, I always tripped over the ball and landed face fist in the mud. Or when I was in the middle of a match and near the goal and tried to score; somehow, I ended up knocking against the pole for more than once. You can't always get everything right, Maddie. And that's what you gotta remember. Kids, have you seen me dribble with the ball?" Pete asked, eyeing every single kid. They weren't standing in rows anymore, but around him and Maddie. They all seemed to consider his words of wisdom and several of them gave Maddie a sympathetic smile that seemed to say, "We've been there, too." Pete understood why Mikey was so fond of this exact team. Dealing with standing in line could always happen later. 

 

"I've seen you dribble with a ball, Mr. Pete!" One kid told Pete while he was raising his arm in the air. In response, Pete had to try his hardest to hold back a laugh. Some kids still didn't understand the wait-before-I-give-you-your-turn thing that was taught in kindergarten. It was amusing (well, unless there were thirty of them and you had to be teaching). Other kids started to join too, saying they saw Pete dribbling, some more than once. After everyone had informed him they did see him dribble, including Maddie who regained her voice, Pete continued his lesson of wisdom. "And was I bad at it?" Was his next question for the group. Everyone shook their heads instantly after hearing the question. The next question was, "And did I get it good at first attempt?" Another turn of shaking heads from the kids. Pete smiled.

 

"Do you all understand what I'm trying to teach you? I didn't get something right the first time and yet, years later, I'm pretty much a pro at it. Because you can't get it right the first time, doesn't mean you never get it right. You're still young, you've got time to practice and practice. Plus, you've got Mikeyway. He will be there to guide you, alright? Just ask him if you ever have trouble with a technique. He'll help you out, I can guarantee that. Mikey's a good kid, just like each of you. Each of you is just going to be fine, understood?" Everyone nodded. Pete smiled again and looked at every child in the group and the best thing was, that they all smiled back. Even Maddie, who was drying her tears that had fallen from all the emotion and his story. "Well, now that's clear, let's practice!" 

 

Ten minutes later, the kids were making kicks at the mini goal that they had bought along with them. Soccer wasn't America's most beloved sport so not much grass fields had goals set up. Luckily Pete hadn't been that tired to forget to bring the club's own. At this point in training, everything went well. No child felt bad after the first attempt and if it didn't go to plan, another child was more than happy to help out. Pete's heart started beating faster when he watched them lend each other a hand. They were good, sweet kids. Pete hoped that that was something they'd always be, even in high school. 

 

"Mr. Pete?" A little boy around the age of six when he tugged on Pete's grey pants with big, green eyes staring up in admiration. "Yes, kiddo?" Answered Pete with a  kind, cooing voice and adoring eyes. "Can I ask you a qu-que-question?" The boy asked, stuttering. Pete nodded before adding, "Of course you can! I'm here to answer all of your answers." (Now let's hope this kid doesn't have an older sibling who mentioned babies, Pete thought to himself). The kid's smile got even bigger than the one he wore seconds ago. "Thank you!" He said first, before opening his mouth to ask his question, "Can you de-mon-strate a giant kick, Mr. Pete? One that goes over the field and up in the air?" Pete awed again. "But of course I can! Gimme me a ball and I'll demonstrate it to you, kiddo." The rest of the kids, who all had stopped playing to hear the boy ask a question, cheered out of happiness. Mr. Pete was going to kick a ball up into the air and over the field.

 

After one the kids had shot his own ball in front of Pete's feet, Pete ushered the children back, took a deep breath, then took a few steps back and then took a run towards the ball. With full focus on the ball, Pete hit the ball as hard as he could. Only problem was - Pete didn't check the direction of where the ball was directed to. And that, that was a big, big mistake. Always look where the ball is directed at. Good thing was that Pete did watch the ball fly and saw, after shooting, where it'd gone to. And that made him cringe and close his eyes very, very quickly because the ball was heading to a window and Pete just could see someone sitting next to the window. Oh God, that wasn't going to be a too nice future conversation with whoever was sitting there.

 

_It had been another Tuesday midday for Patrick Stump. He went to school, did his best to pay attention and not get too distracted writing lyrics or listening to music, made homework given up in class and then went home to listen to more music and write more lyrics that seemed to miss something. Nothing news today - yet. Patrick had been scribbling down new lyrics on lined paper and listened to R &B when it happened. One moment it was deadly silent and the next moment, a ball was crashing through his window and breaking it into a million pieces. Luckily, none of them had managed to hit him. But his parents wouldn't be all too happy with the window. _

 

_Patrick quickly looked around, somehow expecting someone to just pop into his room like it was nothing. That however, didn't happen. After Patrick had established that, that nobody would pop up behind him and scare the living shit out of him, he slowly stood up from his desk chair and walked over to the broken and now open window to inspect the broken glass pieces and… the soccer ball? Patrick had expected an American football, to be honest. He didn't even know up to till this moment a soccer ball could break a window._

 

_Carefully, not to cut his finger (which he failed at), he took the now damaged soccer ball with a few holes into it out of the mess that were the broken glass pieces and turned it around. It was your occasionally soccer ball (not that Patrick had ever touched one before), minus a logo on the ball. It seemed to be the logo of a soccer club, for the children's teams to be exact. Patrick frowned. A kid shot this through his window? That seemed a bit… rigid. Slowly, Patrick raised from his kneeling position on the floor and peeked over the window-ledge underneath the window self. From there, he could see the grass field. Too bad he couldn't see much from there. He then fully stood up and received full view over the field. There he saw twenty or something kids and one very guilty looking coach at front, who was biting his lip and scratching his neck. Patrick decided that he probably had been the one to break his window._

 

_With a sigh, Patrick turned around, away from his window and towards the door of his room. It was time to bring back what was left over from the ball and have a talk about the broken window with the children's coach._

 

Pete was nervous as hell. He had seen the window break and had seen movement inside the room. Had he hit the person? He was worried sick. What if whoever had been sitting there was unconscious or bleeding, or both? Should he go over to see for himself or would he anger whoever lived there? Pete didn't knew what to do. He knew the kids were waiting for him to say anything but to be honest, he was lost for words. What to do in a situation like this? He remembered. Calming the kids down and guaranteeing everything would be just fine. Don't panic, he remembered being taught. The kids are watching every move like hawks. They look up to you. If you freak out, they will do the same but a hundred times worse. 

 

Pete took a deep breath, collected himself and turned around with a faked smile which purpose was to comfort the kids and soothe them. The kids took the bait, which was a very good thing. They all returned his smile with smaller, nervous smiles. "It all will be fine. It's just a broken window. I will fix this." He assured each of them with another fake smile. This time, the kids didn't immediately take the bait. They all shuffled nervously on their feet and looked around, looked at each other. One of them, Pete thought the kid's name was Jess or Jessie, told the others "to trust Mr. Wentz. Mr. Wentz is always right." Pete accidentally let out a nervous laugh, before quickly covering up with a, "that's right, Jess!". Now he only hoped that was  _a)_ the kid's name and  _b)_ the other kids did listen to one of their own, which they, lucky for him, did. "Okay then." One of them said, which the others agreed to. Jessie (wrong name, Pete) did have a point. 

 

Minutes later, after all kids had taken a place on the field, a small, with glasses and a fedora on, kid came in sight and walked over to the entrance of the fence surrounding the field with a nervous, unsure smile directed at at Pete and all the children, who were eyeing him. He all eyed them back, quickly. God, his hands were sweating it out. He didn't do this on a daily basis! Patrick was nervous. Pete, at that point, had followed the glistering, curious eyes of his pupils and had come face to face with Patrick, who hadn't noticed his gaze yet. Pete gave Patrick a look over.

 

Patrick looked just fine. And not in a he-won't-hurt-the-kids kind of a way. In the way that-ass-looks-great, in the way of holy-shit-he's-hot and in the way of I-want-to-marry-him. In other words, Pete's breath got taken away and his throat was stuck. His throat was dry, tight and he had trouble breathing and swallowing. His head was spinning and his heart was beating faster with the seconds. Questions like "What do I say?" ran through his head. His focus on the kids had loosened up; everything just spun. Every ray of sunlight seemed to be pointing at Patrick. God, he couldn't think anymore. All he saw in his head and via his eyes was  _him_. The slightly chubby, but oh so beautiful kid that was walking straight to him with a nervous smile and eyes that searched for anything familiar or comforting. Pete  _wanted_ to be that comforting thing. He was pretty sure his face was going to break if he kept smiling like this.

 

_Patrick felt like turning around and running, running far away from those curious little eyes. Those wide, unnerving eyes that eyed him up and down. Where they judging him? His stupid glasses? His hat? His hair? His body? Could they see the bald spot on his head? How badly did they hate him? Did they want him dead? Would they shot him dead when they gotten older? Would their parents want to burn him on a stake like a witch? Patrick didn't know. God, he just wanted to get out of here. Get away from all those kids and their coach… coach?_

 

_Patrick stopped dead in his tracks and searched for the only adult present on the field. First he looked left, then slowly moved to the right with his eyes and… there he was! He was..._

 

_He was extremely handsome, to put it simple. More than a tiny bit. A holy smokes lot of handsomeness. And he was taller than him, but not that much. It was a miracle. And he was_ _wearing an adorable, childlike, child friendly and colorful soccer outfit. Everything was just perfect about this guy in front of him. Not a single flaw… unlike by himself. Patrick shook his head; better just return the ball and leave, retreat back to his room, his music and his music sheets._

 

Pete watched the man debate with himself in his head. It made him frown. What had a beautiful, flawless man like him to debate about? He should be carefree. Pete wanted to take all the worries away, cuddle and kiss them away. Just make them go away. 

 

Pete watched the man shake his head, then watched him opening the fence and watched him closing the space between them. Pete's breath hitched in his throat. This felt like one of those sappy movie moments in which one of the two glides over and they share a romantic, loving kiss… Pete may or may not started to drool. God, what was this kid doing to him?

 

_He was nearing to the coach. Just a few steps..._

 

The boy stopped in front of him and simply said "Here-," but was never to finish whatever sentence he wanted to say, nor give back the ball he intended to give because Pete, the secret romantic guy he was, closed off the last bit of space and crashed their lips together. 

 

It was perfect.

 

_"Here-" His face came closer and before Patrick knew, his lips, oh so soft lips, crashed against his. It was perfect. It was like moments from that one favorite, romantic, tear bringing movies of his. Patrick was in heaven. Before he knew it, he had threw his hands over the other man's neck and kissed fiercely back, with everything he had gotten._

 

The stil nameless kid pressed against Pete, threw his arms over his neck and kisses like there was no tomorrow. Like he and Pete hadn't seen each other in forever and had just gotten their reunion. It was the end. It was all Pete ever wanted. It was  _magic_.

 

It was love at first sight, Pete thought to himself. Perfect, ultimate and undying love at first sight for the both of them. This was meant to happen, to put it simply. Pete needed to know this stranger's name.

 

_Patrick was just founding his place in the heavy, full of passion sudden make-out session when he was softly and slowly pushed back. His head became a lava of redness and embarrassment. "Oh God, I didn't mean to, I just-" He began, but the kid's coach just pressed a finger against his lips. Patrick had the urge to lick it - which he did. And the result was priceless. The coach's eyes went wide and he started stuttering. Patrick grinned evilly._

 

Pete watched the kid's eyes widen, watched a million thoughts and feelings flash through his eyes, watching his face heat up. Pete could only imagine what was going on. The kid opened his mouth and a waterfall of words fell out, but he never got to finish all he had to say, because Pete pressed his finger against his lips to shush him. To tell him it was okay, that he liked it, too. That he just wanted to know his name (and put it on a wedding band, but ssshhh!). But the kid definitely didn't like to be shut up and therefore wanted revenge because on moment he was silent and the next moment, there was the tip of a tongue peeking out and swirling around his finger. Pete got beet red. And hot. Very hot. So that's how (young) volcanoes felt! Aha.

 

_Patrick grinned even more when he realized he won. The coach didn't mutter one word. Well, that what was he thought._

 

One thing about Pete that you should know is the fact that he always  _does_  or  _gets_ what he wants. And what he wanted right now was a name. That's all he asked for. Ignore the tongue swirling around your ring finger, get a name. That's what Pete thought.

 

_"So, what's your name?" The coach suddenly asked out out of nothing, eyes expectantly looking at Patrick. Patrick shuddered. He didn't see that one coming. He pulled away with a plop and straightened himself (not that he looked taller). "My name is Patrick." he said confidently, with a smug, stubborn smile playing on his lips. The coach's smile got even bigger. "Oooh! Pete and Patrick." He had cooed with a big grin on his face. Patrick looked confused and titled his head. "Pete and Patrick?" He asked. Pete nodded. "My name is Pete." Pete explained with a shrug. "Pete plus Patrick is Pete and Patrick; simple like that. Got it?" He asked. Patrick stuttered, "Uhh?" and gave Pete a blank look. "Oh well, you'll get used to it." Pete told him, while showing his teeth while grinning like a maniac._

 

_"I'm a soccer coach for kids. Adults are so stiff! No fun. What are you?" He asked. Patrick looked lost again. "I, uhhh, am music geek who's almost constantly locked into his own room, writing lyrics, listening to music and working on music sheets?" He answered unsure (and embarrassed. Pete's life story sounded much cooler. Not fair!)._ _  
_

 

_"Oh, that's cool!" Pete yelled for some reason, while clapping his hands together once. "That's great! I love music!" He told Patrick. Patrick smiled nervously, but a bit more confident than earlier. "So do I. So, uhhh, do you play any instrument?" He questioned, still smiling. Pete_ _happily answered, "I play the bass guitar! Love it. What about you?" Was his question. "I play the drums, the guitar, the piano, the-," farther he didn't come, because Pete was absolutely smitten with him and grabbed both his hands and started swinging them. "I think I'm in love with you," he muttered with a soft, adoring smile on his lips and a lovestruck look in his eyes. Patrick was gobsmacked and deep down, smitten and in love with Pete, too. "That's great," he said, before adding "I think I'm too," so he didn't give Pete the wrong idea. Pete happily smiled at him._

 

_"Let's go," he said, and already stirred Patrick to the entrance. He nearly reached it, but was interrupted by the children, who were all screaming, "Mr. Wentz! Mr. Wentz! Don't forget us!" Pete was quickly to correct his mistake (he had really forgotten all about the kids) and turned around and said "Are you coming or not?". Patrick held back a laugh. He had gotten the impression Pete was trying to cover something up. "Lesson is almost over, anyway. Let's bring you back to your oh so loving parents, kiddos." With that, the group followed Pete and Patrick to the meet up spot._

 

_After all kids went home (not after their parents had eyed Pete and Patrick's entangled hands) Pete and Patrick were alone. Both smiled at each other in a comfortable silence before Pete asked, "So I see you this weekend?". Patrick nodded with an adoring, kind smile on his lips. "Yes," he told Pete, before telling him, "I can't wait," in a whisper. "Neither can I." Pete told him._

 

_Five months later, quick or not, Patrick wore a beautiful, white engagement band with a small set of three diamonds with the spoken promise from Pete to get married "as soon as you turn eighteen". Patrick couldn't wait._

 

_-The End._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please leave kudos and comments. Please tell me what you thought of it, what you liked best and what you think of my writing (style). If I made any grammar mistakes (highly likely to be present), please let me know. Again, thank you for reading. It means a lot to me. Please let me know that you read it; leave kudos or simply let me know in the comment section below.
> 
> Thank you.


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